The Boy Called The Holy Roman Empire
by SilverTippedWings
Summary: Once upon a battefield, there was a boy who was an empire. And then there was simply a boy.
1. Chapter One: An End

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Holy Roman Empire's Story

The small kid stumbled across the battlefield, his eyes dead to the world. He could feel it within himself the death of a nation, the death of all that he had once known. Even as he walked he could feel Napoleon advancing, destroying all that made him the Holy Roman Empire. If he laid down right here would he simply fade away? What happened to a country that died?

He breathed faintly and laid down to rest. He thought death would come for him, the day when Francis the Second abdicated. But it didn't. Yet that day was a cold one nonetheless, but nothing compared to what happened afterward. Thirty years of more pain and devastation. In the beginning he had hoped, hoped that maybe the empire could come back together. United on a single goal. But as each year came by and the situation only grew worse, he finally decided that it would be better for his people, if they stopped fighting.

Holy Roman Empire reached out a hand, dragging it through the grass, reaching for something that wasn't there. Putting thoughts of the war away from his mind, he thought of the one thing that would always cheer him up. For a moment, he could almost see a flyaway red lock of hair, smell a fresh scent of tomatoes and herbs, but then it was gone. He would never forget the look on Italy's face when he rode off to war, the promise buried deep within his soul. It was certain now that he wouldn't be able to keep that promise. But at least he got to spend some time with her. He prayed silently, his lips breathing out the words.

_God, if you are out there, please let the Italy live. Let her become a strong nation like her Grandpa Rome, but not too strong, so that she breaks under the pressure. _

After that, he was at a lost what to do. Too weak to move and to exhausted to care, he simply stayed where he was until the last glimmers of the sun faded over the horizon. Holy Roman Empire blinked, the darkness in his eyelids matching that of the world around him. His breathing slowed, and he had difficultly remembering what he had just been thinking about. Clear, brown eyes came into focus in his mind. But whose? The harder he strained, the more they faded.

A terrible pain was in his chest and he felt as if he was being ripped apart. Why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't it just end? The boy grimaced, his mouth opening slightly to let out a quiet whimper. Trying to collect his thoughts, he opened one eye. He was lying in a field. But he couldn't fathom why. His name was... lost. His breathing grew slower and slower until it finally just stopped altogether. His eyes had long since shut and his mind stilled. Thus came the end of the boy named Holy Roman Empire.


	2. Chapter Two: France and the Aftermath

**A/N: **This came out a lot more angsty than I thought. I tried to make everyone as in character as I could but they are all recovering from a war. So think of it as being in character during an extremely tiring time. By the way, this whole story is being beta-read by Anonymously Missing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

France's Story

France was by the window, as he often was these days, a shell of his normal self. The effects of war were apparent on his face, paler and more drawn than usual. His movements were that of an old man, not of the youthful man he physically appeared to be. In all reality, he was much older than many of his 'elders'. Much much older. It was in times like these when his age really began to show, when his nation was under war and his people were suffering.

He barely remembered what got him into this war, but he had been determined to finish it. It was a pity that they had to go against one so young. When he had last seen Holy Roman Empire, he was barely taller than France's waistline. This was the enemy his boss had told him to attack. France would have much rather married the poor boy than attacked him. They had had their differences in the past, mainly over other countries, but that was the way of nations. Nations could never be too sure of relations between each other, for just one order from their bosses and they could be strained by war. So began the war that would last years.

"Mr. Francis Bonnefoy?"

France looked up, putting on a winning smile. "They're going to be doing the signing now, and request for you to be there."

"Of course," France nodded at the small messenger, and couldn't help but compare him to the boy that had been occupying his thoughts as of late. He went to his wardrobe and briskly put on a dressier outfit. Tilting his face in the mirror, he allowed himself a small half-hearted wink to the mirror. Then he swept out of the room.

When France entered the signing room, he could already see that it had already started. He didn't really need to be here, but it looked better if a nation attended the more important public events concerning war, treaties and/or alliances.

"France." The voice nearly made him jump. France hadn't realized how skittish he had become lately. Turning around he almost blanched at the sight of the intimidating Swedish man.

"Bonjour Sweden." If it were any other nation, France would have done something a little more flamboyant in terms of greeting, but this certain country always stalled his flirtatious ways. Besides it was not the time for such pleasantries. He looked around, searching for a little figure clothed all in black.

"Where's the Holy Roman Empire?" France finally ventured, scanning the room in earnest. When he heard no reply he looked back at Sweden. There was no trace of emotion on the man's face, but the big man reached out and put a hand on France's shoulder. He tried not to wince at the unexpected touch.

"He's not here."

France tried not to think of the implications as to why he wasn't here. He was probably wounded in the war and couldn't make it. Or they wouldn't want such a little child in on such important decisions. Then again, France thought with a sinking heart, they wouldn't have let him fight in the war if they were worried about his age. The room suddenly became very hot and France made a little squeak.

"They can't find him." Sweden said in reply to France's noise. "It might be that he -"

"Don't say it." France said tiredly. "I don't want to hear it. Just wait until the treaty's done and then you can tell me." He ended the conversation by turning away from the other nation and watched his people. The rest of the day went by slowly, painfully. Each minute carved more certainty that the Holy Roman Empire was dead. Even if France hadn't killed him directly, he knew it was still partly his fault. It was rare that a nation completely died, but it wasn't impossible. Especially on one so young, the fall of an empire was sure to do damage.

After the treaties were signed, France and Sweden walked out of the congress together. More like France wandered out, still wrapped up in his thoughts and Sweden followed him.

"He's probably dead." France said to himself. "Isn't he?"

Sweden seemed to want to say something but he closed his mouth tight. France went to look at him and almost didn't see the large man that was running towards him. Before he could say a word he was tackled to the ground. Calloused hands wrapped around his throat and he heard ferocious growls. Sputtering he looked up and tried to focus on the man who was currently strangling him.

It was Prussia.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you." Prussia was yelling at him, still keeping his death grip on France's throat. The nation's red eyes were narrowed in pure hate, no empathy resided in them. France tried to speak but he couldn't even breathe. "You killed him, you really killed him, didn't you? Damn you, Francis. Damn you."

Sweden wrapped his arms around the furious nation and firmly but gently pulled him off of the other nearly unconscious one

Prussia turned to look at who was restraining him and his face flushed darkly. "You." he said to Sweden. "You killed him too. All of you are killers."

France took a few lungfuls of air and sat up, brushing at his clothes. Despite what he had been thinking earlier he glared at Prussia. "Hey, was that really necessary? If you wanted to get that close to me you could have simply asked."

France wasn't quite sure why he was taunting the already enraged nation, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. So he simply let his default mode take over. It was better than half-hearted apologies. Prussia tried to escape Sweden's tight grip but to no avail. "Shut up. I don't want to hear it from you. You murderer. There's nothing awesome about a killer. Let go, Sweden. Damnit, let go!"

France stood up and avoided looking Prussia in the eye. "Are you sure he's dead?"

"That's it, I'm really going to kill you." Prussia said coldly. "Of course he's dead. I haven't seen him for over seven months and there's no response to his summonings. And wasn't that your point all along? To kill him? Why else would you go through all this." Prussia waved his arms madly.

France couldn't deny it any longer. The truth was staring him right in the face in the form of a crazed older brother. Holy Roman Empire was dead. At his hands. France looked at his hands almost expecting to see blood on them, but they were clean, just like they were when he washed them that morning. Sweden looked at the other nations, his eyes softening slightly.

"Are you happy now? He's dead. You got what you wanted. Bastard." Prussia spit out no longer fighting against Sweden's grip. France didn't even flinch. A part of him wanted Prussia to say even worse words to him, a part of him wanted to strike back at Prussia for placing the truth in front of his eyes, and still another part just wanted to forget everything that had happened. There was a silence that was only broken by Prussia's heavy breathing.

"I never wanted him dead." France mumbled. "I had to follow my boss's orders. You have to know that I would never wish anyone dead. I'm sorry that he's dead. I never wanted the light to go out of that boy's eyes."

"Well it's too late now, isn't it?" Prussia answered, all the fire gone from his voice. Prussia extricated himself from Sweden's arms. The nation let him go, sensing that he was no harm to France now. Prussia stared at the two of them, his eyes hard. He turned to leave, but then stopped considering something. Turning back around he punched France in the face and then simply walked away.

France staggered back and clutched at his now wounded face, pulsating with pain.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." France waved Sweden off and looked at the retreating country. "As fine as I'll ever be." He lied.

_I'm sorry Holy Roman Empire. For everything. _


	3. Chapter Three: Italy's Weakness

**A/N: **This story is really beginning to grow on me. Thanks to all that read and review! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Italy's story

Italy rested from his work for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. He was extremely tired lately, the effects of the war making him greatly weakened. His people were being picked off, one by one by disease and famine. The glorious days of heaping plates of pasta were gone. He was lucky because he got food. His people were not.

The letters he had sent to Holy Roman Empire had stopped coming back. Italy was worried, but only a little bit. Holy Roman Empire was strong and intimidating, he would bounce back from this war and return home to scold Italy. He had promised too. And Italy had promised to wait for him, working diligently each passing day. He missed the young boy following him around and scaring him while he did his sweeping. In the past, whenever Italy opened his door, he was always surprised when he saw a glimpse of black cloth disappearing behind the corner. Or sometimes a scent of the woods, crisp and clean.

Italy even missed Holy Roman Empire's forceful pleading to join with him to become a stronger empire. Even if Italy would never do it, it was still nice being asked every day. He wiped his hands on his skirt, deciding that the floor in the foyer was clean enough and skipped out, humming softly.

"Italy!" Turning around the small nation headed for the living room where Hungary was calling him. She looked just as weary as him but managed to pull together a soft smile. She was wearing a grown-up version of his outfit, expect she had ribbons in her brown hair while Italy did not.

"Yes, Miss Hungary?" Italy replied, smiling eagerly up at her.

"We're going to be having some pasta tonight for dinner." She said smoothing out a crease in her skirt. Italy's small heart bloomed in excitement. Today was going to be wonderful, he absolutely loved pasta. His smile stretched so big it threatened to fall right off of his face. He ran to her and jumped up on the couch beside her.

"Really, we get pasta? Can I make it?" Italy asked happily. Hungary let out a small sigh, which he was momentarily confused about. Shouldn't Miss Hungary be happy too? Pasta was such a treat surely she would be as excited as him. But looking sideways at her, she seemed almost depressed, not happy.

"Hungary, I need the-" Austria walked in the room, prim and proper as always. He had an air of power and grim sternness that always made Italy prepare himself for a lecture. But today Austria didn't even look at the small nation, instead exchanging a glance with Hungary.

"Prussia's in the kitchen, getting drunker by the minute." Austria frowned. This usually meant that Hungary would grab her frying pan and Italy's ears had to be covered for fear he would learn some inappropriate words. But again, today was different. Hungary just sighed and walked out of the room, towards the kitchen.

Italy was now alone in the same room as Austria and he tried not to cower in the presence of his temporary master.

"I polished the banister again, Mr. Austria." He piped up quickly. Austria finally turned to look at him.

"Did you? That's nice." Austria said noncommittally. He began pacing much to Italy's surprise.

"Italy there's something I need to tell you, and well," Austria took off his glasses and began fiddling with them. "it's not exactly the kind of news I wish to share."

Italy was worried now. Mr. Austria never spoke to him as if he was an equal, he always had self-importance in his voice and a disapproving face on.

"What is it, Mr. Austria?" Italy asked quietly, his face written with puzzlement. Just as Mr. Austria placed the glasses back on his head and looked Italy straight in the eye, a loud noise was heard from the foyer. Austria looked up and immediately stalked out, searching for the cause of the noise. Italy quickly followed intrigued.

Laying on the floor were two figures that were currently in the middle of a fight. Hungary was standing beside the door, her hand still on the doorknob a look of shock on her face.

"What happened?" Austria demanded.

"I was trying to get Prussia to bed and someone knocked on the door. I opened it but Prussia suddenly leaped out and tackled the visitor to the ground." Hungary explained, shutting the door. Italy looked at the two battling figures and recognized Prussia with his white hair. To his surprise, he also recognized the other figure, a flash of bright blonde hair and elegant clothes appearing every so often under Prussia's frame.

"Big brother France?" Italy chirped. What was his big brother doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be fighting in the war? No, the war had just recently ended, Italy remembered. Hungary had told him that morning. Another smile came on his face. That meant he'd be able to see Holy Roman Empire soon! He glanced at the door, half-expecting the blonde-haired nation to be there.

"Bastard! Have you come to finish the job?" Prussia's voice came out over the sounds of vigorous fighting.

"Prussia, please let me go, I haven't come to kill you too. I've come to speak with-" France's voice was cut short with another punch.

"That's enough!" Austria said and nodded at Hungary, the two of them reached down and pulled the two nations apart. "Prussia is drunk as he is, and France you should know better than come here."

France looked much worse now that Italy could see all of him. His clothes were muddied and slightly ripped and his face was bloody and his right eye swollen. "Je suis désolée. I'm sorry, but I felt obliged to come here anyways."

Austria frowned. "Whatever for? And how did you even get here seeing as we're technically enemy territory."

"Not anymore, with the treaty that happened yesterday." France pointed out, if not a bit weakly. Austria just crossed his arms sternly.

"Bastard." Prussia spat out, from where he was nursing his hand. Hungary was looking at him with wearied disapproval. France dipped his head towards Prussia. "I agree, I have been that in my day. But I've come here to hopefully help remedy that reputation."

He turned to Italy and got down on his knees, so that he was level with Italy's face. Italy watched as his big brother's Adams apple bobbed up and down. He was incredibly confused as to what was going on around him. He hoped that they would be able to eat their pasta soon, but sadly it looked like France wanted to speak with him.

"What is it big brother France?" Italy asked the bruised nation.

France licked his lips nervously. "Italy, I have something to tell you."

That's exactly what Austria had said to him a few minutes ago. What was going on? Italy wondered. Surely they all weren't going to try and tell him that they were having pasta for dinner? Hungary had told him that already. A small feeling of emptiness crept into Italy's heart. Maybe France was going to tell him something big. Something that had to do with Hungary's strange sadness and Austria's less stern presence and Prussia getting drunk.

"Holy Roman Empire is dead, Italy." France finally said. Austria sighed and Hungary had a look of anger on her face. Prussia just glared at France.

What? Italy thought. Surely he hadn't just heard what he thought he had. Holy Roman Empire couldn't be- There was no way, none at all. He had been strong and healthy the last time Italy had seen him. Plus the war was over, so he couldn't be dead. No, no, no. This was all wrong.

"I'm really sorry, Italy." France went to hug the small country but he was backing away slowly.

"No, you're wrong. He promised he'd come back." Italy mumbled trying to ignore the look of guilt and pity on France's face. "You can't be right. He told me he loved me. People don't say that and just die." Italy cried out, his breaths coming suddenly faster.

"Italy," Hungary ventured out, stepping away from the wall. "It's okay to cry-"

The small nation ran to the door and pulled it open with strength he didn't know he possessed. He had to get away her reaching arms, from France's sad smile, from Prussia's dead eyes, and Austria's lost face. Running through the fields he had laughed and played with Holy Roman Empire. Running across the road he had watched him ride away into the distance. Running from the house that had kept him safe while out somewhere Holy Roman Empire was killed.

He kept running, his chest puffing out and his short legs moving at breakneck speed. It was said once that Italians were the quickest at running, but only away from something. Italy couldn't help but be grateful for his running skills. It would take a long time for any one of them to catch up to him. For anyone to find him. Maybe, if he ran fast enough, he'd be able to leave this world and find Holy Roman Empire.

But reality soon crashed into him, as Italy collapsed on the ground, somewhere in an open field. The boy could only run so fast and far before his lungs needed reprieve. Italy lay in the grass and stared at the devastatingly beautiful sky, imagining eyes to match it. His breathing slowed and then hitched as the first few tears fell. Italy just let them run out, covering his face in warmth and burning his throat. Holy Roman Empire was dead. He was _dead. _That meant he wasn't going to follow Italy around anymore. Nor was he going to paint with him. Or yell at him. He wasn't going to be doing anything with Italy.

_Why God, why? _Italy weeped. _You didn't let him keep his promise. _

He tried to block the image before it came, but it came anyways. Holy Roman Empire with eyes as blank as Prussia's. With a chest that no longer rose and fell with each breath. Blood staining the ground beneath him crimson. Italy choked and pushed the image away, but it kept coming back. In desperation, he tried to think of anything but that. All the times he had spent with Holy Roman Empire, and his life at Mr. Austria's house. The image still lurked in the back of his mind, but he refused to think about it. Instead he focused on the vibrant boy in his mind, the eyes alive and full of love. The words, _I've loved you since at least the 900's. _Yes, he'd focus on that. Italy decided. He didn't want his last memory of Holy Roman Empire to be a sad one. Grasping onto that, he replayed it over and over in his mind, calming himself. As his tears slowed, his breathing followed suit until he fell into a peaceful sleep.


	4. Chapter Four: Prussia's Shock

** A/N: I do not own Hetalia. **This chapter begins the start of less angst and more happier chapters.

Prussia's Story

Prussia laughed to himself, while his little Gilbird flew around his head chirping ecstatically. His new boss, King Wilhem I, had finally unified all of Prussia's land, giving Prussia some piece of mind. Twirling a piece of string that he had pulled apart from his ceremony outfit, he chuckled again.

"What are you laughing about?" France asked him quizzically, sipping on some wine that he had slipped into the country.

"Probably still imagining Austria's face when he defeated him in the Seven Weeks' War." Spain replied before Prussia could, idly looking through his cabinets.

"That too," Prussia added, allowing another smug smile come on his face. Since he had conquered Silesia, he, France, and Spain had become good friends. Prussia had already been on friendly terms with Spain, since the Thirty Year's War, but France had been a nice addition. It didn't even cross his mind, that this was the same man he had attacked all those years ago. Prussia had buried those painful memories deep down inside his mind, vowing never to open them. Some things were better left alone.

"What are you looking for?" France asked Spain finally, an eyebrow raised.

"_Tengo hambre_ and I wanted to see if Prussia had any food." Spain whined, pulling a couple of clothes out of the drawers he was rummaging in.

"You're surely not going to find food in his clothing." France said amused. Spain sighed and pulled one more article of clothing out revealing a cookie that looked a little worse for wear. Spain smiled happily and grabbed it, taking a couple of bites from it.

"Hey, that was supposed to be the awesome me's snack." Prussia told Spain, swiping it from his hands. "I worked very hard to get it from one of my crazy servant woman." He shuddered remembering how she had glared at him and threatened to put her skills wringing a chicken to good use.

France laughed and winked at Prussia. "I'm sure it didn't occur to you to show her some amour. That always gets me extra treats." France paused as if to consider something. "And something interesting to do for the rest of the afternoon."

Prussia pretended he couldn't hear France's lewd remarks and stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth to Spain's disappointment.

"I say, your boss looked really uptight today." Spain said, going back to looking through the drawers, his determination renewed.

"Why wouldn't he be? It's a big deal for humans to become emperors." Prussia said, licking the crumbs off his fingers.

"True." Spain replied and groaned some more when no more cookies fell out of Prussia's clothing.

There was a knock on the door, and all three of them looked up from what they were doing with surprise. No one normally dared disturb them.

"Who is it?" Prussia called out, Gilbird chirped on top of him and flew to the doorknob.

"You have five seconds to let me in, before I destroy this door to smithereens." A familiar gruff voice spoke from behind it. France paled considerably while Spain still kept the same idiotic smile on his face. Prussia groaned and opened the door quickly revealing a very angry-looking Switzerland.

"What is it?" Prussia asked, not at all happy to be disturbed from his contemplation of how awesome he was. Switzerland didn't say anything else but pushed someone forward into the room.

"I'll remind you to not let your citizens go wandering through my country." Switzerland warned them and hit his sword for emphasis. Then he slammed the door in their faces causing it to shake from the impact.

The Bad Touch Trio looked down at the newcomer. It was a male teen with bright blue eyes and unkempt blonde hair. He looked to be wearing breeches that were far too big on him and a shirt that threatened to fall off his shoulders. The teen was covered in dirt and a few spots of blood seemed to be stained on his shirt.

"Who are you?" Prussia finally asked rudely. He didn't remember ever seeing this kid before. He had many people in his country but he rarely met all of them.

"My name's Germany." The teen told Prussia, combing back his blonde hair with his hands. France choked on his wine while Spain let out a small noise of indignation. Prussia had to blink a few times before he sized up the kid in front of him.

"Germany you say? I think you're wrong. Obviously, I am both the awesome Prussia and the slightly less awesome Germany combined." Prussia told the teen with a smirk. Spain was trying to help France, who was coughing like mad in the corner of the room.

"Well you may be Prussia, but I know for sure that I'm the new Germany." The teen responded, infuriating the nation further. "I hope this doesn't mean I'll have to deal with you for the rest of my life."

Spain laughed from where he was currently trying to help France stop choking while Prussia glared at the teen in front of him. Normally when a new country appeared they were much younger than the kid in front of him and less annoying.

"He seems pretty sure of the fact he is truly Germany, mi amigo." Spain told Prussia.

'Germany' only nodded towards Spain, keeping the same inane smooth look on his face.

"Prove it." Prussia finally got out, so wrapped up in shock and disbelief he hadn't been able to say anything snarky in response.

"Fine. I appeared around two centuries ago and felt a strong tie to the land. I just thought it meant I was patriotic but then I realized that I healed faster than normal people. Scared, I hid for years afraid I'd be hunted down for use of witchcraft. Through some chance I actually spotted you on the battlefield. I eavesdropped on one of your conversations and found out that you were Prussia, as in the country itself. I had my suspicions then that maybe I was like you. It was only proven correct when I saw you again several years later and you hadn't grown older and neither had I. I've bided my time since then, growing stronger and taller, so that when I finally was able to meet the other nations they'd take me seriously."

"You could be a really good liar." Prussia said, eyeing the kid suspiciously. "Or you could be telling the truth."

Germany didn't even blink at his words and pulled out a small knife from his pocket. Before anyone could say anything he slashed it across his thumb and patiently waited. It took a few seconds but blood began to appear in the cut before it sealed itself up again. Germany wiped his thumb across his dirty shirt and looked expectantly back at the three of them.

"He's not lying." France exclaimed having finally gotten over his coughing fit.

"A new nation," Spain murmured to himself with a brilliant smile.

Prussia was speechless again. A whole jumble of thoughts were going through his head. There was a real live nation standing right in front of him. _Dear lord, I'll have to put up with this annoying brat for the next few years. That cookie had tasted terrible, maybe I shouldn't have eaten it. That woman had probably poisoned it or spat on it. I should probably get the kid better clothes, now that he really is a nation. Maybe I can convince this guy to call me 'big brother.'_

A wicked smile came on his face as the last thought occurred to him.

"Alright Germany, let's say I believe you. But in order to make sure I truly believe you you're going to have to do a few things to assure me. First, you can't annoy the awesome me. Ever. Second, you have to call me 'big brother' every time you see me. Kissing the ground in front of me also will get you brownie points. Third-" Prussia rambled on and on, not noticing that France had led the teen away with the pretense that he needed a bath. Spain had promptly followed, wanting to make sure France wouldn't try anything to the new nation.

* * *

Later that evening, Prussia sat up from his chair where he had been looking over his work. He had been ignoring it when the other nations were here, but his new boss really wanted him to look it over. France and Spain had departed after they got the new nation washed, fed, and tucked into bed. He had to kick France out since he had one of those faces on when he was putting Germany to sleep. Spain had regretfully followed, saying something about getting home to look after his tomatoes.

And so, the awesome Prussia was sitting doing his work while Germany slept in his bed. He had ordered the servants to prepare a new room for Germany, since most of the stuff in his mansion was filling up all the spare rooms. There weren't any spare beds free, so Prussia had grumpily allowed Germany to sleep in his bed just for the one night. They had laid out a cot on the floor for Prussia to sleep in when he finished his work.

Stretching his arms, he glanced at the sleeping teen. The days events had been very strange indeed. Prussia hadn't expected to get another brother since his other one had died. Edging closer to the bed, Prussia's mind wandered remembering how Holy Roman Empire had always looked less stern in his sleep. Like the kid he really had been. The same applied to Germany, his face peaceful and less annoying than when he was awake. Prussia frowned. If he looked sideways and blinked a few times, he could almost see the resemblance between his new brother and his old one. Both had blonde hair and bright blue eyes and-

No. He wasn't going to think that. Holy Roman Empire was gone and these thoughts were depressing him. It made his heart go all mushy inside and brought back painful memories of that day. Prussia wasn't in the mood to be depressed so he went back to his work.

It really was a shame that he had never found his previous little brother's body. He had wanted to give Holy Roman Empire a good Christian burial before he went to the next life.


	5. Chapter Five: Austria's Flaws

**A/N: **I do not own Hetalia. Thanks to all of you devoted readers, it really motivates me to continue writing this. :D

Austria's Story

He had never forgotten the boy with the golden hair and the blue eyes. He had remembered the way he had often scolded him, always trying to mold him into the perfect nation. When the Holy Roman Empire acted childishly or immaturely, Austria had been sure to reprimand him. Looking back now, maybe he should have been lighter with the boy who he considered as a son though he would never have admitted it while the nation was alive. Given the boy more of a chance to _live_, actually live. Austria had been aware of his crush on Italy, but he had done nothing to encourage Holy Roman Empire. He had noticed when the boy came home with a flushed face and paint on his clothes. When food mysteriously disappeared from Austria's cupboards. But he had been quick to pounce on the boys' mind and lecture him on the ways of war and politics. It had worked. Austria hadn't seen that the boy's true smile was when he was around Italy, not when Austria praised him for mastering a strategy or a concerto. Still, Austria wouldn't trade the times he had with the boy, stiff and quiet and without laughter as they had been. It was still his small claim to being a parent, to having been a piece in the child's growth.

Austria had tried the same tactics with Italy. Italy, who he had assumed was a girl, had been a troublesome child from the start. Though sh-he had not been aggressive in his intentions, he refused to learn even the basic rules of the house. Constantly Austria had to remind the child who was boss. Rarely did he have to tell Holy Roman Empire that. If Holy Roman Empire rarely smiled, Italy had always been smiling. His happiness had been exhausting for Austria who almost never found something to smile at. A very tiny part of Austria had resented the child. His joyfulness seemed to remind him of a time when _he _had been happy, before it had been snatched away from him. Yet even with that seed of envy he had loved Italy like he had loved Holy Roman Empire. It was easy to say he had loved them now but back then, it would have been forced out of the man.

When he had learned of his son-the child's death, it had almost shattered him. He had locked himself in his room with the beautiful instrument, determined to let out all of his feelings-but for once it did not cure him of the accursed emotions. Instead it only made them worse as with each note he played a tear would drop, making the keys slippery and too slick to play on. The mangled music had reached his ears and Austria had stopped. Astonished at the tears on his face- _when was the last time he had cried?- _Austria let them drop until his face was again dried and composed. If Austria had been bitter and uptight before the news, he grew worse after. His broken heart had been mended by the small joys of taking care of the little nations and now it had cracked again.

When Austria had left the room, the silence of his house was louder than it had ever been. _Soon they will all leave me and I shall be terribly alone again. _Austria had thought while he changed into the stuffiest, stiffest clothes in his wardrobe. The clothes helped to pull his emotions back together and keep him composed.

It was no surprise when Prussia had slammed through the front door with his alcohol and gone straight to the kitchen, where Austria kept many of his spirits. Austria had gone to tell Hungary, she knew how to deal with Prussia best, when he had seen Italy. Judging from the look that the child had had, he did not yet know. With an escalating terror rising inside of him, Austria realized that he would have to be the one to inform Italy. He would have to be the one to crush the smile and joy that Italy exuded each and every day. And Austria wouldn't be able to comfort Italy, if he didn't even know how to deal with the overwhelming sadness he himself still felt.

So it had been a relief when France was the messenger. As much as he despised the country, Austria would be forever grateful that France had said the words that he had not been able to.

"Germany! Germany!" The loud raucous voice of Italy invaded Austria's next thoughts. The nation sighed imperceptibly and slowly wrapped a painting that he had been looking at during his musing. Tucking the painting back into his small chest of things that he had brought back from his house, he went back to reading the newspaper. There was a silence and then an almost deafening roar of-

"_Italy!" _

Austria had to swallow a smile. He looked around almost afraid that someone would see his little break in composure. It was a good thing that Italy still smiled and laughed with joy now. He still pestered everyone endlessly about pasta and other nonsense. It was a miracle. Austria's fears had been for naught. Even if Italy wouldn't talk about the Holy Roman Empire and refused to acknowledge the boy's death. It was still better than the alternative, a broken Italy, someone like him, who was bitter about life and rarely showed any personality. Austria, it seemed, would be that solitary soul. Just as the Holy Roman Empire would be a soul that was forever gone.

* * *

"Germany! Germany!" Italy called out as he entered his friend's house and almost got run over by Germany's dogs.

"It's okay, I brought pasta for you all!" Italy smiled and pulled out some from his bag that he was holding and held it out for them. One of the dogs sniffed at his bag and jumped up and grabbed it from his hand. Italy fell back surprised.

"Whoa, you have quite a strong grip there~ve." The dogs paid no attention to him and one pawed curiously at a wrapped piece of food in his bag.

"Oh do you like chocolate? I like chocolate too, but not as much as-"

"_Italy!" _

"Ve~?" Italy winced when he saw his friend come into view. Germany stormed across the room and quickly snatched up the chocolate away from his dogs.

"Don't you know that chocolate makes dogs sick?"

Italy's eyes went wide. "Oh no! That's terrible, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine now, but don't do it again." Germany said, bending over and picking up the rest of the food in Italy's spilt bag. He said a few stern words to the dogs in German and they slinked away. The nation sighed at what Italy brought. He had become quite tired of pasta, they had it almost every time Italy came over.

"Alright." Italy nodded putting his serious face on. He waited a second and then asked, "Can we have pasta tonight?"

Germany looked at Italy's face, full of hope. "_Ja, _we can." The Italian jumped up and ran into the kitchen excitedly, snatching the bag from Germany. The latter tried not too look to disappointed, he had hoped to make Italy a German meal that night.

Italy tried not to think of the chocolate fiasco. Putting a pot on, his face drooped a bit. He had just wanted to bring Germany the chocolate as a gift, but it had all gone wrong.

"Why is that idiot making pasta!" The indignant voice of Austria was heard. "Again!"

`"Well..."


	6. Chapter Six: Germany's Confusion

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Also, all your reviews truly inspire my and make me smile so thanks for taking the time to read this story. :D

Germany's Story

Germany knocked on his brother's door, leading towards the basement. He did it out of habit, though he was pretty sure that Prussia was out. He usually went out at night with his friends. This night was no different. Normally he hated to go into Prussia's rooms. Mainly because there were, Germany shuddered at the mess that was masquerading as a room. But someone had to clean it up, and every time Prussia opened the doorway in the morning, a whiff of it would hit Germany's nose. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He was going to pull an all-nighter and clean Prussia's 'room', all of it. Once Prussia came stumbling back into the house the next morning, and recovered from his hangover, there would be some bickering. But Germany didn't care. He needed something to do tonight anyways, Italy was mysteriously absent and he wasn't in the mood to do paperwork. Cleaning was the perfect solution and since the rest of the house was relatively organized and spotless, he'd attack the basement.

Armed with his manly cleaning clothes (mostly just some dirty jeans and a shirt that had pasta sauce on it) and a mop, bucket and rag, he opened the door. Immediately he fished out the source of the smell. Prussia had been dumping his dirty, sweaty clothes in the hamper, but hadn't been emptying it. Breathing through his mouth, Germany collected them and placed them in a trash bag, deciding to work on it later.

The next few hours went by quickly, with Germany just straightening up the clutter that surrounded Prussia's room. Most of it was on the desk where he wrote all his blog entries. Germany filed them all away in chronological order and created a pile for miscellaneous papers. The last thing on the desk was a small notebook. Germany picked it up, unsure where to put it, and it fell open in his hand to a page.

_ Dear Diary, _  
_ The super awesome me had a not so awesome day. I don't know why, but as soon as I woke up this morning, I've been in a pissy mood. I blame it on the terrible food that we had for breakfast in the hotel. I half-suspected that England had a hand in making it. He was at the same world meeting that my brother and I were attending. (I wasn't really attending but I crashed the party. Though it wasn't really a party, everyone looked bored to tears there. Probably because I wasn't there to bring the awesomeness to a level infinity.) Anyways while I was fiddling around in the lobby, (I like to crash somewhere in the middle of the meeting, just so they all can appreciate my awesomeness even more.) I realized something. I was already feeling dejected about my ex-nation status but I can't really remember what brought this up. I once, was all of Prussia and Germany; I was the representative of both. Then Germany came along, my super annoying but fun to poke brother, and I gave Germany to him as he rightfully was. I felt no qualms about it, (I learn new vocab just from hanging around that Austria dude) even as much as I grumbled and moaned about it. But it's funny, that I went from having so much to having so little. I went from being Prussia and Germany to just being East Germany. That's my official name, I don't really like it, so I make the others call me Prussia. In my old age I'm allowed to do that right? Man, I'm beginning to sound like Japan. Hell, I need to go out and drink a few beers; I'm being too depressed and thinking too much. _  
_ Still, when I learned about the fact that I wasn't a nation anymore, I expected to disappear. Die. Or whatever it is us countries do when our land and people no longer exist. And for a small moment, I almost thought that I would get to see my brother. My _**other**_ brother. But then I quickly dismissed that thought as to the fact that he's probably up in heaven having the time of my life while with all the terrible things I've done, I'd be sent to hell. _  
_ The lucky thing is, I didn't have to worry about that, going to hell and meeting some awful and completely non-awesome devils and demons there, because my brother Germany was looking out for me. He had already heard about my 'nation's cease to exist' and had gone to his boss to write me in the official documents as East Germany. Maybe that's why I didn't die. Sometimes, Germany can be a really awesome brother, when he's not all uptight and everything. He's definitely smarter than me; I would have never thought to make my other brother part of my country._

Germany stopped reading because he realized that he was invading his brother's stuff. He closed the diary quickly and stuffed it in a random drawer, not even caring that it would be organized. Then he realized that might look bad, because he usually always put Prussia's diaries (he found them everywhere when he cleaned) in Prussia's 'diary room' and he went to the room and placed the book on a shelf near the front. Prussia didn't seem to have any system to his diaries, so it wouldn't matter where it went.

Germany closed the door quietly and shut his eyes for a moment. _I had no idea that Prussia felt that way. The idiot would probably never tell me, but still, I can't believe-_

Opening another closet door, he left that thought where it was as he gaped at the mess. Clenching his jaw, he got to work. If anything, this closet was even worse off then Prussia's whole room, and that was saying something. As he got deeper into the mess, he started to realize just how old this stuff was. He recognized stuff from the 9th century and so on. After a moment, he just shook his head and decided he'd rather not go through it. Germany wasn't really in the mood. Walking back to the front of the closet, something caught his eye. Intrigued, he placed a hand on it and pulled it out of the closet and into the light. It was dusty, but Germany quickly went over it with his rag.  
It was a wooden push broom.  
Germany's brow furrowed. _Now why would Prussia have a push broom in his closet? Surely he mistook this closet for my cleaning one. Probably when he was in a drunken stupor._ Germany rolled his eyes. Prussia often messed up the house when he came home drunk. _Whatever, I'll just take this up and put it back in the closet upstairs._ Going back up, into the land of light, he breathed a sigh of relief. Prussia's room should stay clean for another month or so.  
Washing his hands, he went back to his room. For some reason he had brought the push broom with him. Mostly because he was too tired to go to the other side of the house and put it away, but also because it looked interesting. It had caught his eye in the closet, and it kept his eye now, even as he was unsure as to why. It was just an old simply push broom after all, but it still seemed important. A dull headache came to the back of his eyes, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Probably sleep deprivation. Germany gently set the broom on his chair and crawled into bed, promptly passing out.  
Throughout the whole experience, it had never really entered his mind to wonder who the other brother was.

Italy bounced into the kitchen already grabbing some pots and pans for his weekly pasta cooking with his best friend Germany. He'd actually would have enjoyed having pasta every day, but Germany had been firm over the past few years. Apparently a man could only take so much, or that was what he had said. He never seems to enjoy the things I do. Italy thought. No one does actually.

Humming to himself he put the pasta in the boiling water and leaned over to grab the sauce. He had already made it from scratch, (what kind of Italian wouldn't?) and poured it into a waiting saucepan on the stove. He had made a huge mess on the kitchen, but he'd clean that up before Germany got home.

SLAM!  
"Prussia! I always tell you to clean your rooms-"  
"Seriously? You completely messed up my system. Not awesome. My blog takes priority over your crazy OCD-ness."  
"Well, maybe I wouldn't have to do that if you didn't have a pigsty in my house?" Germany's voice had a slight edge to it, the way he did when he was hurt. The OCD comment must have struck him. Italy quietly listened for more, but their voices had dropped. Not wanting to look like an eavesdropper, Italy went back to what he was doing, hoping that maybe he could relieve some of the stress from Germany's voice if he greeted him with a steaming bowl of pasta and a huge smile.

He heard footsteps and just then he realized that-  
"Italy? What's with the mess?" Germany had come in and he had forgotten to clean up. Italy almost hit himself out of frustration. Germany looks really angry and he's already upset with his brother… Italy waited for Germany to freak out and start yelling at him.  
But Germany didn't say anything except close his eyes and slowly open them again, a blank look on his face. "Never mind, I'm not going to ask, you clean up here."

He left the room, leaving a sour taste behind. Now Germany's both upset and mad at me. Italy thought as he grabbed a rag and started vigorously cleaning. He's probably not going to talk to me for a few days. I'll have to go back to the empty house in Italy. Romano's visiting Big Brother Spain, and those trips usually take forever, so I'm going to be all alone. Italy sniffled at the thought. He hated being alone.

There was a noise and he saw that Germany had come back into the room, with a mop and a bucket.  
There were no words said, but he stood beside Italy and started to clean up the floor. Italy's eyes went wide. For a moment he didn't say anything, he just watched Germany scrub the floor. When the country looked up, Italy quickly followed suit, furiously scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the countertop. Sometimes Germany did things that made his heart flutter. This was on of those times. Germany could be so kind sometimes…

Italy wasn't sure how to break the awkward silence so he just started to hum some more, one of his own little made up tunes.  
"Italy?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Could you stop humming? It's kind of annoying."  
"… Sorry, ve~"  
"It's fine."

Italy turned around from where he was standing and almost laughed to himself. Germany was standing and sweeping the floor, with a completely serious look on his face. Italy smiled at the image and the nation looked up at him, lifting the broom off the ground.

"Oh Italy-could you-"

But Italy's stopped the other nation from saying anything else. The country had opened its eyes wide revealing bright golden brown eyes, Germany couldn't help but think they looked so beautiful when he could actually see them, and was staring with a look that could only be described as horror.

"What's wrong?" Germany asked, clearing his throat.  
Italy opened his mouth, stammering, "W-where d-did y-you get t-that?"  
Germany looked down. He hadn't even noticed that he had gotten the broom he had taken from Prussia's basement. He chuckled. "This? Oh, I found it around my house somewhere."  
Italy didn't laugh with him, in fact he looked like he was going to simultaneously throw up and faint. Germany stopped laughing and he stepped closer to Italy.  
"Are you okay?" Italy took a step back from him. "Italy?" Now Germany was really worried.  
"I-I h-have to go." Italy said abruptly and ran out of the kitchen, grabbing his coat from the chair and sprinting out the house.  
Germany was left in the kitchen, holding the push broom, with a whole swarm of confused thoughts running through his head. It only took him a split-second before he dropped the push broom on the table, turned off the stove and grabbed his coat.

**_ "Italy!"_**


	7. Chapter Seven: Romano's Anger (Lack of)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia..

Romano's Story

Delicately, Romano placed the tomato down, his hands almost trembling from his concentration. When he took his hands away, a small smirk came to his face. Right before his very eyes, there was a six foot tower of tomatoes. Glancing away, he heard the signature chirping of his cell phone. The ring-tone was Veneziano, no doubt. Romano debated. Should he answer the phone and listen to his idiotic brother's ecstatic but annoying voice? Or should he proceed on to the next stage? The eating of his magnificent tomato tower.

"Yah." Romano replied, grabbing the phone anyways. He hadn't seen his brother in a week, that's the only reason that Romano answered the cell phone.

There was silence on the other end. Romano rolled his eyes. Veneziano probably accidentally hit the call button again.

"Venez-"  
"Lovino."

Romano stopped talking, his eyes widening slightly. Veneziano rarely called him by that name. And the mere inflection in the word…something was wrong.

"Yeah. I'm here. What's wrong?" Romano asked, grabbing the top tomato and rubbing it in his hands nervously.  
"N-nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice." Veneziano quietly said. "I haven't heard from you in a while."  
"Alright, well you heard my voice. Now will you tell me what's really going on?" Romano began to stalk around the room. He knew his brother better than anyone, and whenever Veneziano got quiet and didn't talk with those stupid ve's…

"I just had a bad day."  
"What happened?"  
"I don't want to tell you. You might get mad."

"I'm going to get angrier if you don't tell me," Romano replied threateningly. There was a pause on the end.

"Romano. Do you remember the-my friend?"

"Which one?" _Where the hell is he going with this?_ Romano thought suspiciously.  
"The little boy that I lived with along with Austria and Hungary." Veneziano's voice was losing it's strength and getting quieter and quieter.

"I remember." Romano wouldn't forget how he had visited the house that day, having received news of the Holy Roman Empire's downfall. When he had gotten there, it had been a mess, with Prussia and France at each other's throats. Austria had managed to tell him just in time that Veneziano had run off. He had searched for his brother for hours, finally finding him curled up in a field, tear streaks all over his face. When Romano had tried to wake him up, Veneziano had stared up at him with lost eyes. The emotion in those eyes were so devastating, Romano had nearly broke down himself. To see his brother like that, it had made him hate France and the Holy Roman Empire.

"I gave him a push broom before he left. He gave me a promise." Veneziano's voice was far off, even though it was right in Romano's ear. "I never thought I'd see it again. He took it with him. But I saw it again today. Only Germany had it."

Romano almost hung up the phone, he was so pissed. _That potato-eating, son of a-_  
"I don't understand. Why would Germany have it?" Veneziano wailed into the phone.

"Calm down Veneziano. You know I hate it when you cry," Romano felt his own tear ducts respond, just from hearing his brother's sobbing. He steeled himself, imagining the violent crimes he would do towards Germany next time he saw him._ I could slice the tires on his precious little car. I could just set fire to his house. Throw tomatoes at his face. Wait no, that would be wasting good tomatoes. I could set the mafia on him, though I haven't done that to a person in a while. Wonder if the head's of that mafia I started is still alive. Probably not._  
"Veneziano, Germany shares his house with that brother of his. Prussia," Romano made a face. "Prussia was the brother to the-your friend, so I'm sure he got all of the-your friend's belongings." He kept tripping over the name, not wanting to set Veneziano crying again. "Germany must have accidentally gotten a hold of it. Nothing to worry about, see?" He felt awkward, not really knowing what to do with his brother. They had been through a lot, but it still was strange whenever his brother got like this.

He heard soft breathing and then he could almost swear he heard his brother smile. "Right, right! You're so smart, Romano~ I should've known to call you," Romano smiled, but not because he felt better about Veneziano, no, it was only because he could eat his tomatoes now. Yes, that was the reason he was happy. "Alright, I hope you don't have any other problems," he said putting on an irritated tone, "some of us countries-"

There was a slamming of the door and a crash and he looked up, cutting off the sentence he was speaking.  
"Romano? Are you there?"  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here. I think I have a burglar in my house." He grabbed a knife out of the kitchen drawer and held it up shakily.  
"What! Oh no, do you want me to call the police?" He heard shuffling.  
"No, it's fine, just sit tight and I'll be right back." Romano put down the phone and inched to the edge of the kitchen, his heart racing in his chest. "I-I'm armed, you know? Wouldn't want to get blood all over my new floor would you?" He called out, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. Turning around the corner he held out his knife looking for the culprit. Footsteps approached.  
"Listen, I'm-"  
Romano most certainly did NOT let out an unearthly scream, and his hands had _not_ shook with the knife waving around erratically. Once his vision cleared and his life stopped flashing before his eyes, he eyed the trespasser. Gaze turning murderous, he held the knife back up again.  
"What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. House?" He asked gritting his teeth together.

**A/N: Yeah. My writing has been really terrible lately, so I've taken a huge break. Obviously. ^_^ But unfortunately for you guys and me, I'm better now, but I'm not feeling it for this story. I had this somewhere and decided to upload it. It's not finished but, it's the best I can do right now. I'll try to finish this, I really will. No promises though. ;(**


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